Every day is a gift from God, no matter how old we are.

I remember Nigel Martyn joking with me at Leeds, saying he was old enough to be my father, which he certainly was.

Old deeds for old people, and new deeds for new.

Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time.

Tread Lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.

The only thing that one really knows about human nature is that it changes. Change is the one quality we can predicate of it.

The systems that fail are those that rely on the permanency of human nature

Life, Lady Stutfield, is simply a mauvais quart d'heure made up of exquisite moments

Most modern calendars mar the sweet simplicity of our lives by reminding us that each day that passes is the anniversary of some perfectly uninteresting event.

One can live for years sometimes without living at all, and then all life comes crowding into one single hour.

The common hill-flowers wither, but they blossom again. The laburnum will be as yellow next June as it is now. In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after year the green night of its leaves will hold its purple stars. But we never get back our youth.

Because you have the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing worth having. I don't feel that, Lord Henry. No, you don't feel it now. Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will feel it terribly. Now, wherever you go, you charm the world.